


Dead Sugar

by MikailaT



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Mentions of alcohol, No Strings Attached, Post Legion, Top!Sylvanas, allusions to previous relationship, bfa adjacent, bottom!Anduin, dalliances, don't ask me where the name came from, man getting the strap, straight ship, you're just here for some MEN! GETTING! PEGGED!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26846458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikailaT/pseuds/MikailaT
Summary: The High King of Stormwind has a peculiar taste in things that are at risk of killing him if he is not extremely cautious. Be that with drinks or with women. More to the point, he has a taste for things that have the power to take control away from him.
Relationships: Sylvanas Windrunner/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33





	Dead Sugar

The Underbelly of Dalaran was technically preferable to the Undercity in terms of smells. Personally, however, Sylvanas could barely stand the ozone that permeated throughout the sewers from the enchantments intended to cover the pungent scent of filth. Imperceptible to most other races, but even an undead High Elf could detect the presence of Arcane in all its forms. 

The barkeep of this slap dash sewer tavern slid another tankard of cheap ale her way. She accepted it wordlessly, grasping the handle with jagged, bony fingers. The glamor spell that disguised her as just an ordinary Forsaken woman allowed her to do this. Come to such mundane locations without raising any eyebrows. To everyone present, she was not the Warchief of the Horde, but just another undead trying in vain to get drunk and feel some modicum of living sensation in her shambling, animate corpse. Nothing to lift anyone's guard over. 

This was not an ideal appearance nor location for the Banshee Queen, but it was under the parameters of their agreement. A place that was both easily accessible to the both of them but also unlikely to raise suspicion. It wasn't always the same places or the same disguises, of course. Such repetition would risk getting caught. The secrecy and carefulness, though something she was no stranger to, was enough to make her laugh. Even if he didn't admit it, he loved all the sneaking around.

'He' being the man who agreed to meet her here, whose footsteps she soon heard approaching the bar. Even the glamor he wore could not hide how heavily rehearsed his otherwise featherlight footsteps were. Not to her ears. Without turning her head, she cast a side glance to the one who now sat on the farthest stool from her. Ah. Shit shoveler Jerek. A favorite glamor of his. 

Anduin Wrynn had reached out to Sylvanas shortly after the Legion's latest, and supposedly final defeat. While the euphoric relief of victory was rich in the air, so was the tension and threat of ever looming war. The young King, ascending to the throne shortly after the death of his father, wrote to Sylvanas in the hopes of brokering peace between the Alliance and Horde. Sylvanas' response was blunt and scathing, but it did not dissuade the Little Lion's almost stubborn pacifism, so the correspondence continued, even when the peace talks were met with impasse. 

The letters began professional, but Wrynn just couldn't help but fill his parchment with little anecdotes that gave away a great many things about him. A show of good faith, perhaps. Sylvanas, eager to know more about her potential adversary in war, encouraged this in her response. It took some feigned interest in comfortable peace, but it got the job done. Professional letters grew more and more anecdotal before swiftly turning into something personal. Soon enough, they've agreed to meet in neutral locations discreetly. What followed was something truly unexpected. Something Anduin soon realized he had been craving, and that only the Dark Lady could provide.

They would go on to continue this little game whenever either of them could spare the occasion. Always in one of a few selected locations in neutral territory and always in disguise. They both had access to glamor spells, of course, though Anduin had a habit of sometimes repeating a disguise once or twice. 

'Jerek' was one he seemed to enjoy. He did have an almost fetishistic perception of the peasantry. Believing them to be blessedly simple creatures who were unburdened by the trials and tribulations of the wealthy and powerful. He even compared himself to a coin purse bursting at the seams from an excessive number of coins that were meant to represent his anxieties. 

Sylvanas was accustomed to hearing such tripe from years of having to work with Silvermoon nobility. The upper class always had such high opinions of themselves and the 'burdens' they carried. Of course, that didn’t make it any less insufferable to endure. When she first heard him murmur such things in a moment of afterglow, she very nearly throttled him. 

"Dead Sugar, please," she heard him murmur to the barkeep. A drink so aptly named for its excessively sweet taste intended to conceal the equally excessive alcohol. Many o' hapless initiates fell prey to its enticing taste and were promptly rushed to a healer to get their stomachs pumped if they didn't just keel over on the floor. A risky concoction to be sure, but Anduin's dislike of bitter tastes prevented him from trying anything else. It was as if he was only drawn to things that had the chance to kill him.

The both of them exchanged glances sparingly, confirming their identities by a learned series of taps against the table. Eventually, Sylvanas rose from her stool, dropping a small sack of gold by her empty tankard. She proceeded to walk down an empty tunnel, knowing 'Jerek' would soon follow. In the darkness of the corridors, she gripped the Hearthstone that rested within her pocket, preparing herself to send the both of them far from here as soon as they were ready. A small smile to creep onto her lips. She knew that the Little Lion could refuse to come find her. She knew that, at any point, Anduin could just get up and leave, silently bringing an end to their little dalliance. 

But he wouldn't. 

Because he needed this. 

***

They both appeared in Sylvanas' chambers in a flash of arcane light. The glamours on both of them were barely lifted before she pinned Anduin to the wall, a single hand grabbing both his arms by the wrist and hanging them over his head. Her free hand tore away the collar of his simple tunic and she sank her fangs into the fair skin of his neck. 

He moaned unabated, knowing by now that the wards in her chambers would prevent anyone from overhearing them. His moans were high and loud, relishing in how the Banshee Queen so swiftly took control away from him. Control that he was more than happy to be rid of. He loved it when she started out rough. He loved it when she abused him like a rag doll. Instinctively, he bucked against the strong hips that kept him pressed against the wall. This earned him a warning hiss right into his ear.

"Don't be greedy," she growled, her fangs still pink with the blood she drew. "I will have you on my own terms. Understood?"

"Y-Yes, my Queen," he croaked out. He could practically hear her smile at his response. There were days that she liked to fuck the impudence out of him. However there were also days that she enjoyed when he was merely putty in her hands. 

This day was very much the latter. 

She made short work of his clothes, buttons and fastens giving way to her strength and soon spilling onto the floor in tatters. She did not murmur arousing filth into his ear. Only warnings. She did not allow him to disrobe her, nor did she make any attempt to do it herself. She needn’t be naked for what she intended to do. Her actions were not in any way sensual. They were not intended to be the caress of a lover. They were intended to demonstrate that she was taking what was hers and that what he wanted didn't matter. Of course she knew that he wanted that very thing as well. A rare instance where they actually agreed on something. 

Sylvanas buried a hand in the freed locks of golden hair and grabbed tightly. She dragged him by the back of his head over to the large four post bed that rested at the far end of her chambers. She shoved him onto the mattress, pressing his face hard into the dark purple comforter as she loomed over him.

"Stay," she commanded, only letting go once he mewled in compliance. The risen elf then walked over to her end table, reaching into a drawer for two things. A jar of basic salve intended primarily for lubrication.

And a sturdy leather harness with a generously sized toy mounted upon it. 

Anduin tilted his head to look at her prize, already shuddering with anticipation.

With impossible grace, she climbed back onto the bed, eyes roaming over the sight of Stormwind’s High King face down and hips up in her chambers. His entire body had remarkably feminine features from a hairless face and a generously curved backside. It made the prospect of completely ravishing him all the more bearable. The way his breath would hitch with anticipation certainly helped as well. The Banshee Queen drew no physical pleasure from this affair, of course. The enjoyment came from utterly dominating her supposed rival in arms in a way he had no chance of denying. It was the thrill of conquest more than anything.

Sylvanas placed the harness aside for now. She wouldn’t need it just yet. Instead, she popped the lid on the jar, lathering two fingers in a copious amount of salve. She could hear Anduin’s breath catching, his legs inching farther apart with anticipation. She could have chided him with a harsh strike, saying that he was misbehaving in his eagerness. Alas, she was more invested in hearing him cry out. 

She grabbed him firmly by the hips, her grip strong enough to bruise as her lubricated digits came to his backside. There was very little preamble considering she was not here to be gentle before plunging her fingers inside of him. Anduin cried out against the mattress, his timbre high with a sliver of pain that accompanied the immeasurable relief. She bore into him up to the third knuckle, savoring the elongated moan he failed to stifle before she began pumping into him proper. The salve allowed her fingers to glide in and out with relative ease. Her grip on his hips tightened fiercely to keep him from bucking against her thrusts or grinding his member against the sheets. 

She kept a brisk pace with her thrusts until she heard his voice reach a particular octave, a tell that was nearing the threshold of release, and then stopped. Anduin had to bit back a whine of protest, knowing that such a thing would only be met with mockery or punishment by the Queen.  _ His  _ Queen. 

She pulled her fingers out with a slick pop, his ass now properly lubricated. Her keen elven ears could hear the pitiful noises in the human’s throat as she left him in suspense while preparing for the main event. 

“Are you truly so desperate?” she inquired, the power behind her haunting voice cutting through the silence in a way that made him visibly flinch. “To have me fuck you like you’re a common tavern wench?”

Anduin was quiet for a moment, unsure if her question was, itself, permission to speak. His curiosity was sated when the hand on his hip tightened hard, ushering a startled yelp from him. 

“Y-Yes,” he squeaked. 

“Then beg,” Sylvanas demanded, her voice little above a whisper, yet carrying absolute authority. 

Anduin’s entire body trembled, daring to tilt his head enough to catch a glance of the Banshee Queen that loomed over him. “P-Please,” he whined, his eyes impossibly large and blue. She could even see the glistening of unshed tears in them. “Please fuck me, my Queen. I n-need it.” 

So pitiful. So meek. There were mangled corpses walking around in the Undercity with more spine than Anduin Wrynn in that moment.

Sylvanas’ grin could only be described as malevolent as she reached for the harness at her side. The supple leather straps wrapped around the material of her breeches. The hand already coated in salve reached in the jar for another helping. This time, the substance coated the protruding shaft on the harness, making a wet sound that Anduin bit his lip to upon hearing it. With both hands now free she could properly grip his backside, spreading the little lion opened while she lined herself up. 

She teased his entrance with the tip of her shaft, the chill of freshly applied salve causing him to shiver. She drew the stillness out until she heard him shudder and whimper in desperation. 

“...Please.”

She plunged inside, savoring the howl she tore from his lungs. 

Her rhythm began slowly, more for her convenience than his comfort. It was more satisfying to set an easy pace and gradually build speed than to start off pounding into her victim as if she were some tactless savage. Besides, the muffled mewls and sighs that graced her ears justified the languid pace. 

She looked down at her prize which laid almost completely limp save for his backside which he fought to keep upright for her. His build was, of course, notably feminine for a human male. Soft skin over lean, modest muscle and a soft round face that was currently concealed by his long hair spilling over his head. Hair that was a rich gold. Much richer than her own pale blonde. Almost…

Almost like  _ her _ hair. A long time ago. Back when  _ she _ used to cry out for her like this. 

Sylvanas bristled, suddenly quickening the pace of her hips. She couldn’t think about that, about  _ her _ , right now. It wouldn’t suit her. She forced the intrusive thought back to the deepest depths of her subconscious. This moment was about making this lion squeal and nothing else. 

As her thrusts bore deeper and harder into Anduin, his moans had staccatoed. As if she kept fucking the air from his lungs every time he attempted to take a breath. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back. Harshly. She leaned over, pressing against his back to litter his shoulder and neck with harsh bites. 

His eyes were hazing with euphoria, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to stifle back moans, only for the strength of her hips to force the noise from his lungs. His thighs began to quake. A sign of both growing fatigue and of impending release. Tension was building in his nethers, his own cock throbbing as it hovered over the comforter he was being pressed into. 

It was then he realized his tells of being close might have been too obvious, as one of Sylvanas’ hands reached underneath him, swiftly grasping where his cock met his sack, and pinched down hard. 

Anduin yelped at the sharp, unkind action before Sylvanas snarled in his ear. 

“Oh, no. I know you were not just about to make a mess in my bed, little lion,” she managed to purr venomously. Her hips stopped their immaculate gyrations as well. She brought him so tantalizingly close to the edge only to painfully yank him away so as to not get his spunk on the bed. 

“N-No, my Queen,” he choked out. “Of course not. Forgive me.”

For a moment longer, she was as still and silent as the grave. Anduin was just about to fret that he had ruined the atmosphere of the moment before he felt her thrusts pick up again. She resumed her previous, merciless pace, noting how more careful and repressed his noises were. Of course it wouldn’t have been much longer before he found himself on that very same brink.

And, just as before, he was met with a sharp pinch to the back of his throbbing shaft. 

“What did I just say?” she hissed into his ear. 

A unbridled whine of pent up frustration came out of the High King. “Please, My Queen! I’m so close! I fear I might die if I don’t let go soon!”

Sylvanas sneered, suddenly finding his desperation somewhat unbecoming. 

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. An idea that appealed to her wicked need for control and domination. 

Without another word, she pulled out of Anduin, hearing a crisp pop as she did. Anduin barely had a moment to ask himself what was happening before he felt himself being forced on his back. She faced the human, his eyes wide with surprise and bewilderment and his chest heaving for air. Feeling that a question was on the tip of his tongue, her closed her hands around his ankles and pushed his legs upward.

He was much more flexible than she was expecting. By the time she felt his body put up any resistance to her actions, his feet were nearly on either side of his head. His expression was completely lost, but his member still pulsed and ached with excitement. 

A low, mischievous chuckled rumbled in the Dark Lady’s throat as she lined herself up once more. Her hips thrusted downward, reclaiming his entrance at her new vantage point. The action earned a breathless gasp from him as his eyes fluttered closed. 

She made no attempt to start off slow this time. Any satisfaction she would have received by drawing this out had long been expended. Her thrusts were swift and merciless, earning more broken cries of pleasure and a face utterly lost in bliss.

She narrowed her gaze at him. This pitifully passive excuse of a man coming apart underneath her. This was supposed to be the leader of her enemies? Unacceptable. The thought of being considered equals with this utter manchild she was fucking filled her mind with contempt. 

She felt another urge. One she was familiar with at this point. The urge to snap his neck while his thoughts were too clouded to resist. It would be quick and easy. Another High King dead. Another crippling loss for the Alliance. The temptation was there, and it was stronger than ever before.

And yet, something stayed her hand. 

His cock spasmed as he neared closer and closer to his desired peak. A peak she no longer had the patience to deny him. She listened closely, waiting to hear when his pitiful gasps reached just the right tone before she bore down on him with full force. Her shaft rammed none to gently into his sweet spot, igniting the spark that caused him to spill over the edge. 

He howled as his member erupted with euphoria, spurting its contents with such fervor that got on his face. His lithe body seized and twitched in the wake of his immeasurable high. Every muscle in his mortal coil clenched as it chased his climax before falling lax as he came crashing back down. 

His breathing was labored and greedy, forcing much needed air into his lungs whilst he struggled to refocus his pleasure clouded eyes. 

Sylvanas looked him over in the interim, silently marveling at how effective her plan was. For as violently as he came, none of his mess appeared to have gotten on the sheets. Good. Otherwise, she absolutely would have snapped his neck. She pulled the toy out of him slowly, earning a low, satisfied shudder as she did.

Her gaze met his as it started coming back into focus. “Are we intelligible now?” she inquired, her voice almost soft.

Anduin took a moment longer to catch his breath before nodding. “...We’re intelligible now,” he confirmed. 

“Good.”

She shoved him off the bed, savoring the sound of his yelping and the almost comically sharp thump as he hit the cobblestone floor. 

After unfastening the harness around her hips, she climbed off the mattress herself, not looking back to see him scramble back to his feet as she made her way to her writing desk. The fun was had and she wouldn’t waste another thought on him. She sat down and reached into a drawer for a fresh parchment and inkwell. Her thoughts were on the decrees she had put off and miles away from the young man still trying to collect himself in her chambers. 

He reached down to collect something luminescent from the tattered remains of his clothes. His own Hearthstone to take him back to Stormwind keep. Hopefully, he could manage to duck any staff or guards until he made it back to his own chambers.

A realization hit him. 

“...Oh.”

A long ear flicked at the noise. “What?” Sylvanas asked, making no attempt to mask her irritation. 

“...I don’t have a spare change of clothes.”

The quill in Sylvanas’ hand stilled over the parchment she was looking over. Slowly, she turned in her seat to look at Anduin. He remained as naked as the day he was born, covered in his own seed, which began to dry against his skin, and surrounded by shredded garments that had no hope of being salvaged without a tailor. 

An absolutely sinister grin formed on her dark lips. “How unfortunate.”


End file.
